Hello, everyone! I know it's been quite a long while since my last update, and I'm afraid I have no excuse except for writer's block! Please forgive me! But I'm hoping to get back on track with updates soon! In the meantime, bear with me.

Thank you everyone! I hope you all had a lovely Christmas and New Year! Thank you so much for your continued support! Enjoy!

Chapter Fifty-Six: Toby

John returned home from a particularly dull day at work to find the flat completely silent, save for the muffled sounds of Mrs. Hudson bustling around downstairs. Brows tugging worriedly together, as silence always indicated something was wrong, the doctor hurried up the rest of the steps into the flat, quickly ducking his head inside the kitchen as he went. Just as he was about to call out, however, John saw the briefest of movements out of the corner of his eyes. The doctor padded into the sitting room to find Sherlock, sitting absolutely still on the couch, palms together and pressed against his lips.

Frowning, as his flat mate clearly seemed to be concentrating on something, John turned his head, following the detective's gaze. "Oh no. No. No!"

"Oh yes," Sherlock murmured, eyes still intense as he gazed forward.

"Sherlock, why the bloody hell is there a cat in our sitting room?" John asked with a frustrated gesture towards said animal, which had taken refuge on his chair. The cat in question sat perched on his hind legs, tail flicking lazily back and forth as he gazed back at Sherlock. John vaguely wondered how long the two had been glaring at each other.

"An experiment," Sherlock replied, dropping his hands.

Pressing his lips into a firm line, John held his breath, certain his face had begun to turn pink. "What?"

"For the latest case," Sherlock continued in a murmur, clearly deep in thought. "Lestrade just dropped it off. I need it to solve the case."

"It? Does the bloody animal not have a name?" The doctor quickly silenced himself upon receiving a positively icy glare from his flat mate, which clearly stated, Why on earth would I waste my precious time with something so trivial as the bloody cat's name? "Right... Well, where's Hamish then, has he seen it?" John corrected, blurring two questions into one.

"Napping upstairs. No."

"Right..." Pursing his lips as he gazed at the cat, who, a magnificent shade of grey, had spun around on his chair twice before lying down and closing his eyes. "Charming."

"Mm," Sherlock hummed in agreement, raising a disdainful brow at the resting animal. "My sentiments exactly..."

"So how long do we think the cat's going to be staying?"

"Two days."

"Two? Two days?" John exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

Standing, Sherlock glared at John, pulling off his suit jacket. "Don't think I'm any happier about it!" the detective retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "But two is the time I will need to run the proper amount of tests to solve the current case I'm working on. And I believe the cat has the answer. It seems you should appreciate such a thing, seeing as you're always complaining about my lack of enthusiasm for solving cases in a timely manner." The detective gestured frustratedly towards the cat. "Well, I'm now trying, John!" Sherlock soon felt all frustration evaporate from his veins upon hearing a little voice behind John.

"Daddy? Johns? Why is ups-met?"

Checking his watch, Sherlock nodded to himself; Hamish was right on schedule. Nodding apologetically to John for his outburst, the detective gently brushed past the doctor and made his way onto the landing where Hamish sat on one of the steps, rubbing at his eyes. "Hello, love," Sherlock murmured, kneeling in front of his little son. "Did you have a good sleep?"

Hamish nodded with a yawn.

"Good," Sherlock chuckled, a warm smile gracing his lips. "Right, then..." The detective shared a glance with John, who rolled his eyes and then nodded. "Hamish, John and I need to show you something, alright?"

Frowning, and as he had not fully woken yet, Hamish squinted at his father with tired eyes. "What's is?" he asked, standing up on rather wobbly legs.

Chuckling, Sherlock offered a steadying hand, smiling when the little boy eagerly took it. "May I pick you up?" the detective asked, as Hamish would occasionally become quite offended if, right after a nap, he was asked if he wanted to be picked up. This time, however, the little boy nodded his consent. "Very good, then." Wrapping his hands around either side of his son's tiny middle, Sherlock lifted Hamish off the step and settled him against his chest.

"Hmm." Humming contently, Hamish watched with bleary eyes as he was carried into the sitting room. The little boy waved with a few fingers to John as they passed him in the entryway.

"Hello, little man," the doctor replied with a smile.

"He'o..."

Now in the sitting room and gazing at the resting cat, Sherlock raised a brow and then turned his attention to his tired son. "Hamish?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"For the next few days, we're going to be having a um... guest, of sorts." Clearing his throat, Sherlock simply patted Hamish on the back and then nodded to John's chair.

Brows furrowing in confusion, the little boy lifted his head and looked to where his father had nodded.

Sherlock's lips pressed together upon feeling Hamish's form tense in his arms.

"Daddy," the little boy began, a frown nearly creasing his features, "what is?"

"That," Sherlock replied, "is Toby." The detective glanced to his left upon hearing a sound of irritation from John.

"I thought you didn't know the cat's name!" the doctor exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"It was in the file."

"And you couldn't think of it earlier? When I asked?"

"It wasn't relevant earlier," Sherlock replied with a dithering look before turning his attention back to Hamish, whose expression of confusion had now changed to one of curiosity.

"Toby," the little boy repeated, fingers curling where they were resting against his father's chest. "What is, Daddy?"

"He's a cat," Sherlock replied with a fond quirk of his lips.

Green eyes soon filling with excitement, Hamish bounced up and down in Sherlock's arms. "I cans see, Daddy? Is nice?"

"Well..." Keeping a watchful eye on Toby, who, amid all the excitement had awoken and hopped off John's chair, Sherlock pressed his lips together, contemplating. The detective dared a glance at his little son, feeling his resolve begin to break upon seeing the pleading excitement in Hamish's eyes. He heaved a playful sigh. "Oh, fine. But Hamish... I need you to listen very closely, alright?"

Eyes wide, Hamish nodded his understanding.

"Excellent." Settling a protective hand on his sons' back, Sherlock crouched down and pointed towards the cat, who seemed to be gazing curiously at Hamish. "I don't want you to touch the cat, alright? Cats are not known for their compassion, and they are certainly not known for their kind nor safe behaviour around children. Do you..." Fingers curling cautiously against his son's little back, Sherlock watched with careful eyes as the cat sauntered towards them, tail up, green eyes clearly curious.

"What's I do, Daddy?" Hamish whispered, clearly panicking.

"It's alright. I'm just here, Hamish," Sherlock reassured, eyes on the approaching animal. "Alright?"

Hamish just nodded, biting his lip as he stared frightfully at Toby.

Ready to snatch Hamish up and away, Sherlock's fingers tensed against his son's back. The detective's lips parted, however, as Toby, who had cleared the distance between them in a few quick trots, began to rub against Hamish's legs, purring loudly.

Frozen in his place, the little boy merely stood in the same spot, holding his hands out far from his body, as if something terrible would happen if he were to lower them.

Staring at the cat in confusion, his lips still parted, Sherlock also stood frozen in place, vaguely aware that John was laughing behind them.

"You two," the doctor chuckled, shaking his head as he padded into view. "It's just a cat." Kneeling down in front of his two still flat mates, John began to run his hand over the cat's back. "See, Hame? Would you like to pet it?"

The little boy shook his head back and forth in quick succession, eyes wide.

Laughing, John continued to stroke his fingers up and down the length of Toby's back. "It's okay. Here, give me your hand." The doctor loudly cleared his throat in an attempt to catch Sherlock's attention.

Still frowning at the cat, the detective blinked his attention to John, who gestured towards the cat. Understanding, Sherlock squinted briefly at the cat before reaching out and, following John's lead, began to pet him. "It's quite alright, Hamish. Perhaps this cat is the exception..."

"But dids say nots," Hamish replied breathily, still holding his arms out.

"I know I did," Sherlock murmured with a chuckle. "But this one seems to be nice... considering," the detective added with an eyeroll.

"Sherlock," John warned, raising a brow. Returning his attention to Hamish's rather stricken form, the doctor smiled warmly. "Hame?"

"Uhm… 'Es, John?"

"Listen... Do you hear that?" A nod. "That's called purring. Do you know what that means?" Hamish shook his head, brows tugging together. Smiling, John continued. "It means that Toby's happy. Purring is his way of telling you he likes what you're doing..."

Bottom lip protruding just slightly, Hamish turned his attention to Sherlock, who smiled encouragingly and nodded. "It's alright, love."

"Here... How about we try this?" Pulling the cat away from Hamish's legs, John continued to run his knuckles over Toby's head as he stood, keeping the animal in his arms.

Following suit, Sherlock pulled his son's still-rigid form into his arms and stood across from John. "Here." Opening his palm, the detective smiled reassuringly. "How about we have a go together, hmm?"

Nodding his agreement, Hamish placed his hand in his father's palm.

Smiling when he felt his son's hand in his own, Sherlock suddenly realized how utterly Hamish trusted him. The detective couldn't help but smile at the thought and, wrapping his son's fingers in his own, Sherlock reached forward, pressing both of their hands against Toby's soft fur. The detective nearly chuckled aloud upon hearing the gasp that escaped Hamish's lips.

"Is lots soft," the little boy murmured, carefully feeling Toby's grey fur with his chubby little fingers. "Mmm."

"Indeed," Sherlock hummed in agreement, a warm smile gracing his cupid's bow lips as he gently ran their hands up and down the length of Toby's spine. Moving slowly, the detective released his son's hand from his own, slowly pulling his fingers away one by one. "Very good job, Hamish," he murmured, pressing an encouraging kiss to his son's temple. Sherlock was vaguely aware that he'd begun rocking the two of them back and forth.

Suddenly giggling madly, as if at his own worry, Hamish removed his hands from Toby's fur and clapped them together. "Down, Daddy," the little boy declared in delight, tugging at his father's collar. "Oh, 'ease," he added quickly.

"Very well, then," Sherlock chuckled as he crouched down, indicating to John that he was to do the same. Releasing Hamish from his grasp, the detective chuckled when the little boy immediately plopped to the ground, his little legs splayed out in front of him. "Key!" he declared joyfully, reaching towards the cat John had just released.

"Kitty," the doctor corrected fondly.

"'Es, key!" Hamish repeated, too focused on Toby to realize his mistake.

Remaining crouched, Sherlock took a few steps back and watched carefully as Hamish, a positively joyful grin on his lips, began to haphazardly stoke his little fingers up and down the length of Toby's back.

"Ooh!" the little boy cried, fingers recoiling as the cat began to purr. Green eyes wide, the little boy turned back to John, who had joined Sherlock, and gasped, "Is doing ah purr, John!"

Laughing aloud, the doctor nodded. "Indeed he is, isn't it? Very good job, little man. Why don't you keep petting him, hmm?"

Nodding fervently, Hamish returned his gaze to the cat, who, clearly appreciating the attention, had rolled onto his side and was stretching his limbs out, which pulled several delighted giggles and claps from the little boy.

Smiling fondly at his little flat mate, John turned his attention to Sherlock, who was staring at the scene before him, gaze intense, fingers linked together. "Doing alright?" the doctor chuckled, clapping the detective on the shoulder.

Releasing a sigh, Sherlock nodded. "I didn't know Hamish liked animals."

John nodded his agreement before chuckling, "I don't think he did either." Deciding he would start some dinner, the doctor once again patted his flat mate on his shoulder before heading to the kitchen in search of food.

Pressing his palms against one another, Sherlock slid his steepled fingers up to his lips, gazing intently at his little son. The detective felt something flutter in his chest upon seeing the way Hamish was interacting with the other-wise stoic animal, eliciting such playful mannerisms. Sherlock knew he shouldn't be shocked that his son had surprised him yet again. But still, the detective found everything he still had to learn about Hamish positively incredible.

"Toby! Stops!" Hamish laughed as Toby stood and began to rub his grey form against the little boy's back. Pressing his small fingers to his face, as if to shield his cheeks from the cat's tail, Hamish continued to giggle madly at the ticklish feeling of Toby's fur against his skin. "Toby!" As the cat had done a complete circle around him as was once again sitting in front of him, Hamish reached forward and, with unusual gentility for a toddler, wrapped Toby's face in a hug.

Sherlock watched, lips parting just slightly, as his little son pressed his face against Toby's soft fur; the detective could see as each of his tiny fingers curled against the cat's ruff, holding him close. And suddenly, Sherlock wished they would keep the cat. If only to watch as utter delight filled his son's features; to watch the way the little boy clutched the unusually patient cat close...

A bittersweet smile causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners, Sherlock suddenly realized his gaze had begun to blur just slightly at the corners. Wiping hastily at his eyes, the detective glanced behind him to make sure John was not peering over his shoulder. With a single sniffle, Sherlock leaned forward and, after snapping several pictures of the precious sight in front of him, pressed a kiss to his son's temple. "Mmm. I love you, Hamish," he murmured, taking a hand and cradling the little boy's head against his chest for a few brief moments.

Toby still wrapped in his arms, Hamish hummed, content with his father's closeness. "I does 'ove, Daddy," the little boy replied, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Hmm." Smiling fondly, Sherlock pressed another kiss atop his son's curls and then, after releasing Hamish from his grasp, padded into the kitchen.

"Hamish, dinner!" John called from the kitchen, where, amidst the many experiments and lab equipment strewn about the table and counter, he had managed to find a place to set Hamish's plate of eggs and ham.

"Oh! I's coming!" came the little boy's muffled reply.

Sherlock, who was sat at his microscope, gaze frantically traveling back and forth between the slides and the notes he was scribbling, paused his musings to glance towards the entryway as he heard Hamish's approaching footfalls. The detective quite literally had to press the back of his hand to his mouth to prevent from laughing aloud as his little son toddled into view, a quiet unhappy-looking Toby clutched haphazardly in his arms.

"I has Toby!" Hamish declared proudly, struggling to keep the large cat in his grasp.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Sherlock slid off his stool and then knelt down in front of his little son. "Indeed you do," he chuckled, nodding towards the cat, which was now struggling desperately to get free. "But, as he cannot eat dinner with us, how about we let Toby go, hmm?"

"Oh. But… but what's will he do?"

Lips quirking apologetically to the side, Sherlock took Toby from his son's little arms with a slight grimace, and then stood. "Well, I'm afraid that since we don't really want Toby wandering around the flat without supervision, he's going to need to stay in a carrier," the detective explained as he led Hamish into the sitting room.

" Ah what, Daddy?" the little boy asked, not understanding.

"A carrier," Sherlock repeated, padding over to the other side of the couch, where a rather large animal carrier lay resting.

"Oh…" Frowning, Hamish toddled over to the cage and, with the tender curiosity of a Holmes, began to prod at its plastic walls. "Is much hard, Daddy," the little boy concluded after a thorough examination. "But is good."

Holding Toby away from him, Sherlock nodded his agreement before quickly tucking the cat inside the carrier. "Yes, it is. Oh." Rather suddenly realizing what his son had just said, the detective smiled and then playfully ruffled the little boy's curls. "That's a very excellent observation, Hamish. Very good job."

Grinning at the praise, Hamish toddled over to his father's legs and then buried his face in the detective's trousers, concealing a bashful smile. "Hm, Daddy," he giggled, small fingers holding fast to the fabric. "Hmm."

Sherlock watched as Hamish, still leaning against his legs, turned his gaze back the crate, the smile slowly sliding from his little lips.

"Is sad, Daddy," the little boy whispered suddenly, green eyes fixed on the carrier. "Is much sad."

Tilting his head to the side, Sherlock crouched down and settled a hand against his son's back, splaying his fingers over the skin. "Why's that?" he murmured gently, eyes steady as he gauged the little boy's facial expressions.

"Not does see nice, Daddy," Hamish explained with a one-shoulder shrug. "Is much smalls… 'An not is purr, Daddy," the little boy concluded, lips drawing down slightly at the corner.

"No," Sherlock agreed, silver eyes steady, voice just a murmur, "it doesn't seem very nice, does it? But he'll be alright, love."

"Prom'kiss?" Hamish asked, turning a teary-eyed gaze to his father's. "Does prom'kiss, Daddy?"

Smiling sadly, Sherlock nodded. "I promise. He'll be alright."

Nodding and with a sniffle, Hamish ran an arm under his nose. "I does like ah cat," he stated suddenly and with a single nod of his head.

Lips pressed into a fond grin, Sherlock wrapped his arm around Hamish's little form and then pulled the little boy into a hug. "Yes, I know you like the cat," he chuckled, pressing a kiss to his son's curls. "And you can see him after dinner, hmm?"

"I cans see, Daddy?" Hamish gasped suddenly, green eyes wide as he gazed up into Sherlock's grey ones.

"Well, yes of course," the detective replied with a chuckle. "Toby's going to be staying with us for two days," he exclaimed in an exaggerated fashion, eyes wide.

Mouth falling open, Hamish suddenly bounced up and down.

Sherlock watched with a fond gaze as the little boy pulled away from him and hurried over the carrier. The detective could hear as Hamish began to whisper to Toby through the metal grate.

"I's be back, 'kay? I has ah eat. But I's be back! Donts be sad ah'cause Daddy say is gon'sa stay! So is all good!" Bouncing up and down on his little legs, and with a grin on his lips, Hamish waved a goodbye to Toby with a few fingers before toddling back over to Sherlock. "I saids b-bye," the little boy whispered, as if such a thing was a secret. "An' I's be back."

Sherlock replied, grinning and also in a whisper, "Very good job, then, Hamish." The detective gently bopped his son on the nose before adding with a wink, "Now. May we go eat the eggs John has burned?"

Giggling madly into his hands, Hamish nodded, eyes squeezing shut as he laughed. "Not is nice, Daddy," he laughed, attempting to scold.

"I know." A fond grin on his lips, Sherlock Hamish into his arms and then toted him into the kitchen.

"Hamish, you must have your pajamas on before you play with Toby," Sherlock stated, a brow raised, as he stared down at a very wet and very naked Hamish, who, after making a mess at dinner, had required a bath.

Wet curls having flopped slightly into his eyes, Hamish grunted in frustration as he pushed the dripping hair away, scowling up at his father with as much malice as he could muster. "I nots wants ah jammies," he declared with a frown.

"Too bad." Noting the way the little boy was beginning to shiver, Sherlock snatched a towel and, before he had time to retort, had wrapped Hamish in it. "You need clothes," the detective continued, carrying a now very-grumpy Hamish out of the bathroom.

"No."

"Yes."

"Not 'ease."

"Yes, Hamish."

"I nots does like ah jammies!"

Heaving a sigh, Sherlock set Hamish on his bed, and then raised a brow in warning. "Which step would you care to sit on?" he asked, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Sobering, and wrapping his towel around his little form, Hamish scowled at the ground before mumbling, "'Kay. I has ah jammies."

"Uh-huh." Removing his hands from his pockets, Sherlock quickly fetched the train onesie Hamish had chosen and then raised a questioning brow. "Would you like me to put them on or do you not want help?" he asked, holding the fabric up.

"Can helps 'ease, Daddy?" Hamish whispered, bottom lip protruding just slightly.

A fond smile. "Of course," the detective murmured with a nod. "But you still need a bit more drying, hmm?"

Hamish hummed his agreement with a feeble nod.

"Oh, cheer up, love," Sherlock chuckled, grabbing another towel from the nearby bathroom. "I can assure you pajamas are not the worse thing to suffer through." The detective merely laughed at the scowl he received.

"Sherlock?" John asked, padding into the kitchen.

"Hmm?"

"Did you put Hamish to bed yet?"

"What?"

"Did you put Hamish to bed yet?" the doctor repeated.

"No, why?"

"Listen."

Pulling his attention away from the microscope, Sherlock soon understood. Silence.

A frown on his lips, the detective left his spot at the kitchen table and hurried into the sitting room. "Oh…" Swallowing the lump that had quickly risen his throat, Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief upon find Hamish, lying on his back, his little limbs splayed about, sound asleep on the middle of the sitting room floor, Toby curled against the curve of his middle. "They've fallen asleep," Sherlock whispered behind him to John, despite the fact that the doctor was also gazing at the scene.

A small smile twitching at the corner of his lips, Sherlock took several silent steps forward, not wishing to wake either Toby nor Hamish. Tilting his head so as to get a better view of his slumbering son, Sherlock's gaze softened, his grey eyes lightening. "Oh, my love," he whispered, staring at Hamish's little hands, curled into themselves. "We should probably move him, shouldn't we?" the detective asked, a bit regretfully.

Humming in agreement, John nodded. "Yeah, I suppose we probably should."

Yet neither flat mate made any attempt to do so.

"Why is it so intriguing?" Sherlock murmured after a few moments' silence.

"What's that?"

"Him. Watching him sleep, observing him? Why is it always so incredible?"

Smiling at his flat mate, John simply whispered, "Goodnight, Sherlock," before silently leaving the room.

Almost not wanting to separate his son from Toby, Sherlock crouched down and began to stroke a knuckle over the little boy's cheek. "Oh, Hamish," the detective whispered. "How I love you so…" Lips curving into a small smile, Sherlock took a single hand and brushed away the auburn curls residing on Hamish's forehead, so as to press a kiss to the skin beneath. Following the curve of one of his son's arms, the detective suddenly realized the little boy had a single hand buried in Toby's fur.

Smiling fondly, and with slow, gentle movements, Sherlock managed to detach Hamish's hand from Toby. The detective then scooped the little boy into his arms in one fluid movement. And, suddenly reminded of the time when Hamish was small enough to fit against the curve of his chest, Sherlock merely held the little boy close, gently swaying back and forth in the darkness.

Stroking a few fingertips through his son's auburn curls, Sherlock eventually heaved a sigh, knowing it was time he took Hamish up to bed. Cradling the little boy's slumbering form close, the detective glanced down to the cat. "I still don't like you," he muttered softly, but not quite able to muster a scowl.

As if his "scolding radar" was still on, even during sleep, Hamish shifted slightly in his father's arms. "Mmm."

Rolling his eyes and chuckling, Sherlock pressed a kiss to his son's temple and, before carrying the little boy upstairs, whispered, "My apologies, love… Though I still don't like the cat."